No Tangible Beauty
by small fries
Summary: what should have happened between brady and chloe after the last blast.


[Curtain]  __

[Curtain] 

The night was cold. She would have given anything for a jacket. She had run out of the gym without thinking to take her thin shawl that lay on the wooden bench in the front foyer of the school. She had only thought of escape. Fleeing the confines of the illuminated gym seemed her only salvation that night. 

It was summer and still the climate of all of Salem was almost freezing. 

Chloe wasn't sure when the realization of it all finally hit her, defining that ultimately _it_ was over. Philip had left her. Whatever form of love they had shared was now gone. 

She stumbled past Salem Place while retracing her steps from the fresh hours of the evening. What omens from earlier that day had she blinded herself from? There must have been signs foretelling that Philip would eventually abandon her -- just like everyone else had. 

It wasn't fair. It was _never_ fair. 

Her brown hair that had been combed straight and flowingly now tumbled over her shoulders in a tangled mess. Her pale blue gown shined in light of the half-moon as her legs unknowingly carried her to a quiet spot in front of a clothing boutique. Silently, Chloe walked towards her reflection in the store's window. She grazed the pad of her index finger over the glass pane, tracing the outline of a red dress that was held erect by a headless mannequin. Sometimes she felt as though she herself was a mannequin, faceless and nameless, easily disposed of. One thing that separated her from the beheaded structure mysteriously looming in the store's window was that the figure could shed its skin at any given moment. It was always changing with the times and with the environment. That was something Chloe Lane just could not force herself to do. 

The prank at the school dance seemed light-years away now. Her naked body emitted on the screen by the slide projector felt like a nightmare that had occurred in a distant past. Now she felt almost vengeful, but she knew revenge would get her nowhere. After all, she had _made_ herself the outcast. The student body would not have made fun of her so if she had just blended in. She convinced herself of this. 

"You made yourself the person they hate, Chloe," the girl in the blue dress scolded herself. All she had cared about since her first day in Salem was becoming an opera star. She wanted to sing at the Metropolitan Theatre. She wanted to sing all of her fears into the ground. She wanted to make it so she could leave Salem knowing that she was better than the whole town. She wanted to be better than _something_. "You made them hate you and now you've lost the only person who truly cared for you." Philip's tender face lingered in her memory as she wiped the tears from her eyes. 

"He didn't _truly_ care for you," a low voice responded from the shadows cast by the large buildings. "I hope you know that." 

"Who's there?" Chloe yelled into the darkness. Her hand blindly shot out in front of her body and moved from left to right, feebly warding off the potential enemy. 

"Settle down," the voice said again, "it's just me." 

Chloe squinted her eyes as they adjusted to the lack of light. She finally perceived the enigmatic yet familiar silhouette of Brady Black dressed in a full coal-coloured suit and matching tie. He looked as though he was attending a funeral, complete with a placid look on his face. "Jesus Christ, Brady. What are you doing here?" Chloe was suddenly conscious of the mascara tears that had slithered down to her jaw, staining her smooth cheeks. She desperately tried to wipe them away. 

She always saw Brady in the same way that she saw him tonight. He would come to her with the same broody expression, ready to spite her and wanting to compete for whose life was the worst at length. 

"I saw what happened at the dance tonight, Chloe," he explained. "Those kids are cruel and vindictive. That prank should never have happened." 

He had been there. He had been a witness to her degradation in front of the masses. Initially, Chloe was embarrassed that Brady had seen her stark body on the screen of the gym. She was then surprised to see compassion revealed on his face. His cheeks appeared rosy in the wan moonlight and his flaxen hair contained flecks of gold, but his icy blue eyes remained stone cold to her. "I don't need your sympathy, Brady." 

"Then how about my empathy?" 

For once, Chloe looked at Brady with gratitude. It was slight, but it existed. She wasn't sure how they started but the tears came flowing out of her like unstoppable rivers that poured over her face. Her body was wracked with sobs until she wasn't sure she could stand on her own anymore. She cried into Brady's shoulder and collapsed in his arms like a paper doll. 

"I feel so... cold," Chloe breathed into his jacket. Never had someone been so resolute a companion like Brady. However, never had someone tried to compete with her as did Brady. She felt suddenly bare and unprotected. "Oh God," she sobbed. "Sometimes I wonder why I let these things happen to me." 

His heart went out to her. It never felt a thing for anyone, but his heart was wrenched in mutual anguish for Chloe Lane. Still, she blamed herself for the prank and for every name that had been spat at her since she had first moved to Salem. She _was_ different, and at this moment and this night she was crying out for him. 

"And Philip... He left me. After he saw that picture of me on the screen, he deserted me like everyone else did. Oh God..." Her tepid breath condensed in the cold air until she continued to heave out futile gasps of mist. She glanced down at her dress that was now soiled at the bottom. "I'm a mess. I look like a demented prom queen." 

Brady eased Chloe's frigid body to the side of the store as he sat himself down beside her. "Don't start feeling sorry for yourself, Chloe. Philip's young; he doesn't know any better. He follows the crowd and doesn't care about anyone else's feelings but his own. He's always been like that. Don't start thinking you caused him to be an idiot. He does well enough on his own." 

"He cared about me." 

"He cared about how you made _him_ feel. That's selfish." 

"Is it selfish that I don't care about this goddamn town?" Chloe whispered while looking at the half- moon. "Is it heartless of me to want more for myself than this? Brady, all I've wanted out of my life was to sing." Her eyes were now closed and her tear-stained face made her look like a sacrificial martyr to an unknown god in the moonlight. She was wishing for something better. 

"No," Brady finally answered. "That's not selfish. That's what you want out of this whole crude mess. It's not selfish to want something more." His hands found their way to her bare shoulders. He felt her shiver at his touch, then her body calm. "You'll be that star, Chloe, singing in front of a packed theatre. I know you won't need me there to tell you that you can do it. By then, you won't need anyone. Not a soul." 

She would be _alone._ As much as she had liked the idea before, she didn't much like the way it sounded coming from Brady's mouth. 

"Philip left me," Chloe recalled. She didn't want Brady to be right about him. She wanted so much for Philip to have turned back and have taken her in his arms, kissing her on the forehead while telling her he didn't care what others thought. "When I needed him the most, he left me." She lifted her head and looked at Brady. "Why are _you_ with me now?" 

"Because I understand." 

Chloe knew he did. She could see in his eyes that he had suffered with his own battles. She felt in his rough hands clutching her shoulders that he had endured his own hardships. He knew more than she'd ever allow herself to believe. 

At that moment when the stars weren't twinkling and the moon fell behind a sullen cloud, no spark of tangible beauty could be seen in the dark night sky. That was when she loved Brady. It was a strange love that bound her to him. Perhaps it was because he understood her dreams and fears. Perhaps it was because he came back when everyone else had abandoned her. Or perhaps it was simply the comforting warmth of his hands at her back on that cold, cold night. He was pressing her to hold on to something much more beautiful. 

She took his hand in hers and let his fingers stroke her cheek. The grey dusk faded into a scarlet dawn in what seemed to be an operatic homage to the night. 

__

[Curtain] 


End file.
